


Making Room

by Schwoozie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Lazy Mornings, One Shot, Prison, Sleepy Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:43:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7205885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl wakes up with his hand in an interesting place. Beth doesn't seem to be complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maebe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maebe/gifts).



> Thanks to justkirstenb for inspiring me as always. Damn you.

He wakes to her sleepy murmurings, mumbled nothings she whispers into her pillow. She's facing away from him but he can still hear it; makes him smile into her hair when he leans towards her and breathes in deep, ignoring the wetness on his fingers.

They'd both showered the night before—separately, because even though Hershel is willing to let them share a cell doesn't mean he'll put up with much else—and Daryl had smiled when she came back, ensconced in a fluffy robe and hair wrapped in that elaborate twist that every woman seems to know how to make. Daryl was ready for sleep in his shirt and boxers but he didn't lie down yet; watched her putter around the cell until he'd had enough, pulling her onto his lap and muffling her squeal with his mouth over hers as his hand slid easily inside her robe to grope a breast. She had pushed him away—said they both just got clean, no reason to get all dirty again (no matter how much they both enjoy that kind of dirty)—and Daryl'd obliged. He'd already beaten one out in the shower to the thought of her in this bed of theirs, so tiny they have no choice but to sleep wrapped up in each other. They could drag a bed in from an empty cell and make it a double, but neither of them have found cause for it yet. Beth likes having him close; she'd whispered that to him one night after making love, when they lay sweaty and pressed together and Daryl had suggested allowing themselves some space. But the truth is, he really doesn't want to be away from her either. And so here they are, as they so often find themselves—Beth's tiny body nearly swallowed by Daryl's large one, legs slotted together like puzzle pieces. She murmurs again, more like a moan, and Daryl pulls her closer only to realize—

Heat floods through his body from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, pooling in the center as his morning wood grows even harder. He should have wondered why his fingers are wet, why Beth's moaning when she usually comes awake so quietly.

Sometime during the night the hand of the arm he'd slung over her body had crept its way under her sleep shorts, far enough to become trapped between her legs where she's now squeezing her thighs, trying to work herself against his hand. The realization of what he's feeling makes his fingers twitch, and Beth lets out a desperate, quiet breath as he presses into the wet spot on her panties.

“I know you're awake,” she whispers; for privacy's sake but also he thinks because she can't totally trust her own voice at the moment. “You aren't gonna tease me, are you?”

“Morning to you too, sunshine,” he says, grinning into her hair as his hand begins to move deliberately, rubbing small, slow circles against the fabric over her opening. Beth's legs stop their clenching and she shifts herself so he has easier access to do what he wants; but he's got what he wants. His woman wet and willing and in his arms and the dawn light just beginning to pick out strands of her hair, set them alight. He uses his whole hand and rubs her pussy up and down, chafing it with the threadbare fabric of her panties. “Want these to stay?”

“No,” she breathes, pushing against him like she could phase into his chest and grinding against his hard-on in the process. Daryl groans deep in his throat, bending his neck until his forehead touches her shoulder. He feels rather than sees her crane her neck backwards to look at him; he _definitely_ feels when her squirming becomes deliberate, circling her ass against his cock loose in his boxers until his hand on her pussy is clenching down without his will. “C'mon, babe,” she says, knowing what that kind of pet name does to him. “Touch me, Daryl, c'mon.”

Normally he'd be a dick about it. He knows he's a dick and tries to be less of one for Beth, but he can't seem to do away with the part of himself that loves teasing her. Denying her till she's squirming, whispering questions he knows the goddamn answers to just to hear her heated replies. He never wants to fuck up enough to make her angry with him, but in bed it's different. In bed he can push and push till she forgets about the people sleeping in the cells near them, curses his name and flings herself on top of him and moans like she wants to bring the building down. She doesn't look at anyone much the mornings after he gets her that far; blushes a bright red whenever she catches his eye, flush spreading when he smirks back and turns pointedly towards the tombs, knowing she'll follow.

Beth worked up is a force of nature, and he's better with the natural world than the world of people anyhow.

But it's morning now, and the cellblock is quiet, and he's too sleepy to play any sort of long-game. He'd woken a few times the night before to feel her moving around and muttering—nightmares she rarely remembers the details of but that sometimes jolt her awake and leave her shaking in his arms. She hadn't woken, not this night, but somehow he thinks that's worse; means she was stuck there longer with no one to pull her back.

He brings his hand high enough that he can slip it past the stretched band of her underwear, sighs with her as his fingers sink into her wet heat.

“That's it,” he whispers as he begins to circle her clit with one finger, holding her still with the strength of his bicep when she tries to wiggle in his arms. “Feel good?”

She whispers his name and he kisses her shoulder, abandoning her clit for the moment to prod around her entrance, dip his fingers in the well and bring them back to her clit where the glide is now more smooth. She's making noises high in her throat as he works her, small whimperings that never grow loud enough to alert anyone else but are still enough to make him smile. He adds another finger to her clit now, pulling back the hood with one and rubbing the hyper-sensitive inside with the other and she begins to hump against his hand, whimpers turned into whispered nonsense as she clutches the pillow and the sheets.

“Love doing this,” he rumbles, turning to long strokes of his index finger, running the whole thing down her clit and back again in a slow steady rock. “Love touching you, Beth.”

“I love when you touch me,” she whispers, arching against him, whimpers squeezing out between clenched teeth as he pulls her still closer and speeds up the pace, fighting to keep his eyes open as her movements stimulate his dick. He can't see much of her, little more than a mass of hair, but he can see enough and he wants to see, wants to experience with all his senses the moment when she starts to breathe heavily, sucking in air like she's almost drowned, breathing and breathing until she groans, head buried in the pillow as she spasms all over. Daryl rubs her through it then dips his hand deeper into her panties to feel the gush, cup it in his palm, slide the tip of a finger into her to feel her entrance gulping at him, convulsions coming slower and slower until all that moves him is her breathing, slow and deep, the wetness as she continues to trickle into her underwear.

“You good?” he asks, taking his finger out but leaving his hand cupped over her pussy, not ready to leave just yet.

“That was so nice,” she whispers. She pushes against him and he relaxes the arm that had been lying across her body, letting her roll to her back so she can look at him.

And he can look at her. Flushed, eyes puffy and filled still with sleep, lip red from biting. He rests on his elbow and cups her head in his hand, leans forward to kiss her forehead. Her hand comes to lie over his on her pussy, outside the fabric, squeezing like she wants him to hold on.

“So nice,” she says again, voice thicker as her eyelids flutter shut.

Daryl smiles to himself as he watches her fall back asleep; waits until her breathing is long and deep before pulling his soaked hand from her underwear, cleaning it off on the sheets behind him. He brings his arm over her again, letting it rest under her breasts as she murmurs in her sleep, turns towards him like an offering.

He kisses her lips softly—not enough to wake, but enough to stretch them into a smile. A small one, lulled by sleep, but one he can feel before he even pulls away. He doesn't go far. Rests his head on the pillow beside her, feels her breathing on his face, her heartbeat against the flat of his arm.

They should get up. They need to get up. There are walkers to kill, shirts to mend, food stocks to fret over and deer to be hunted down. There's no time to linger in bed. There's no room for tenderness in a world like this.

Daryl lets his eyes slide shut anyway. Lets sleep take him too as her hair lights more brightly with the dawn.

 


End file.
